12 BYRON'S

Not lie—whose heart nor time nor distance frees,Spell-hound within the clustering Cyclades !

Nor seems this homage foreign to his strain,

His Corsair’s isle was once thine own domain—-Would that with freedom it were thine again!

111 .

The sun hath sunk—and, darker than the night,Sinks with its beaip. upon the beacon height—Medora’s heart—the third day’s come and gone—With it he comes not—sends not—faithless one!The wind was fair though light, and storms werenone.

Last eve Anselmo’s bark return’d, and yetHis only tidings that they had not met!

Though wild, as now, far different were the tale,Had Conrad waited for that single sail.

The night-breeze freshens — she that day had> pass’d

In watching all that Hope proclaim’d a mast;

Sadly she sate—on high—Impatience boreAt last her footsteps to the midnight shore,

And there she wander’d, heedless of the sprayThat dash’d her garments oft, and warn’d away:She saw not—felt not this—nor dared depart,

Nor deem’d it cold—her chill was at her heart;

Till grew such certainty from that suspense—

His very sight had shock’d from life or sense!

It came at last—a sad and shatter’d boat,

Whose inmates first beheld whom first theysought;

Some bleeding — all most wretched—these thefew—

Scarce knew they how escaped —this all they knew*,In silence, darkling, each appear’d to waitllis fellow’s mournful guess at Conrad’s fate:

• Something they would have said; but seem’d tofear

To trust their accents to Medora’s ear.

She saw at once, yet sank not—trembled not—Beneath that grief, that loneliness of lot,

Within that meek fair form, were feelings high,That deem'd not till they found their energy.

While yet was hope—they soften’d — flutter’d—wept—

All lost—that softness died not—but it slept;

And o’er its slumber rose that strength whichsaid,

“ With nothing left to love—there’s nought todread.”

’Tis more than nature’s; like the burning mightDelirium gathers from the fever’s height.

“ Silent yon stand—nor would I hear you tellWhat—speak not—breathe not—for I know itwell—

Yet would I ask—almost my lip denies

The—quick your answer—tell me where he lies.”

“ Lady! we know not—scarce with life we fled;.But here is one denies that he is dead:

He saw him bound; and bleeding—but alive.”

She heard no further—’twas in vain to strive—

So throbb’d each vein—each thought—till thenwithstood;

Her own dark soul—these words at once subdued:She totters—falls—and senseless had the wavePerchanoe but snatch’d her from another grave;

* The Comboloio, or Mahometan rosary;

WORKS.

But that with hands though l‘ude, yet weeping 6yA9.They yield such aid as Pity's haste supplies:

Dash o'er her death-like cheek the Ocean dew,Raise—fan—sustain—till life returns anew;

Awake her handmaids, with the matrons leaveThat fainting form o’er which they gaze andgrieve:

Then seek Anselmo’s cavern, to reportThe tale too tedious—when the triumph short

IV.

In that wild council words wax’d warm andstrange

With thoughts of ransom, rescue, and revenge;All, save repose or flight: still lingering thereBreathed Conrad’s spirit, and forbade despair;Whate’er his fate—the breasts he form’d and led.Will save him living, or appease him dead.

Woe to his foes! there yet survive a few,

Whose deeds are daring as their hearts are true,

v.

Within the Haram’s secret chamber sateStern Seyd, still pondering o’er his Captive’s fate,His thoughts on love and hate alternate dwell,Now with Gulnare, and now in Conrad's cell;

Here at his feet the lovely slave reclinedSurveys his brow—would soothe his gloom ofmind;

While many an anxious glance her large dark eyeSends in its idle search for sympathy.

Ills only bends in seeming o’er his beads,*

But inly views his victim as he bleeds.

“Pacha! the day is thine; and on thy crestSits triumph—Conrad taken—fall’n the rest!

Ilis doom is fix’d—he dies; and well Ms fateWas earn’d—yet much too worthless for thy hateMethinks, a short release for ransom toldWith all his treasure, not unwisely sold;

Report speaks largely of his pirate hoard—

Would that of this my Pacha were the lord!

While baffled, weaken’d by this fatal fray—Watch’d—follow'd—he were then an easier prey;But, once cut oil—the remnant of his bandEmbark their wealth and seek a safer strand.”

“ Gulnare! if for each drop of blood a gemWere offer’d rich as Stamboul’s diadem ;

If for each hair of his a massy mine _

Of virgin ore should supplicating shine;

If all our Arab tales divulge or dream

Of wealth were here—that;gold should not redeem"

It had not now redeem'd a single hour,

But that I know him fetter'd, in my power;

And thirsting for revenge, I ponder stillOn pangs that longest rack, and latest kill.”

“ Nay, Seyd!—I seek not to restrain thy rage,

Too justly moved for mercy to assuage;

My thoughts were only to secure for theeHis riches—thus released, he were not free;Disabled, shorn of.half his might and band,

His capture could but wait thy first command.”

“His capture could ! —and shall I then resignOne day to him—the wretch already mine ?

Release my foe!—at whose remonstrance ?—thine"Fair suitor!—to thy virtuous gratitude,

That thus repays this Giaour’s relenting mood,Which thee and thine alone of all could spare,

No doubt—regardless if the prize were fair,

the beads are in number ninety-nine.— B.